


Home

by andstarswillscream



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andstarswillscream/pseuds/andstarswillscream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their EM Fields all bloomed in comfort and warmth and <i>love</i>, and Tailgate couldn’t be happier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

They were a tangle of limbs, wings, dimmed lights, and soft mechanical sounds, with helms resting on one another’s plating. The three mechs shared in one another’s heat and company, a comfortable silence filling the room and settling into their frames with a soft, relieving sigh. Tailgate traced meaningless patterns against Whirl’s cockpit, the helicopter’s helm resting against Cyclonus’ hip. The both of them were curled around him, with one of Whirl's arms draped over his chest. Having the both of them quite nearly wrapped around him only served to remind Tailgate exactly how small he was, fitting between the two near-perfectly as Cyclonus had laid his head upon Whirl’s thigh and settled himself down into the blankets beneath. It wasn’t a bad thing. He liked this, feeling safe and secure amongst two mechs who he’d grown to adore. He felt at ease, when they curled up together like this, like he was coming home after a long trip.

There were no implications of any of this— it would only mean something if they wanted it to, and the three of them were decidedly content with just nestling down with one another now and then, sometimes even for nights on end. All of them felt safer this way, anyways. They would not be alone if— _when_ the nightmares hit, they would have two others who understood and supported them and were willing to stay up with them until the anxiety and panic subsided, or until they were too exhausted to remain online.

Tailgate was the one who most often awoke in fear and visor alight in distress, visions of darkness and being forgotten, left down in a hole, six million years just _gone_ plaguing his mind. More often than not, after asking a soft “May I?”, Whirl would pull the little one into his lap and rouse Cyclonus— the two of them were the only ones who could without having him snarl and grump at them for the rest of the day— and they would both take one of Tailgate's hands in their own, and allow the minibot to ground himself, gripping their fingers and claw until his optics returned to their usual glow.

And sometimes, it was Whirl, who would online with deafening silence and full of shakes, pulling away from the two, waking them both. He wouldn’t speak, couldn’t bring himself to, always looking down at his hands— at his claws. If he tried, all that would sound was staticky, synthesized warbling. The both of them only touched him if they’d gotten permission to. And if they did, Tailgate would have Whirl lay his head in his small lap, as Cyclonus would preen Whirl's wings, massaging tender joints with skilled hands, clearing away dirt with sharp, careful talons.

And yet, sometimes, it was Cyclonus, who would rise, and begin to curl into himself. Tailgate would wake Whirl, and they both would curl themselves around the old warrior, letting him know he didn't need to face it all alone.

But tonight, it was just the three of them relaxing together, enjoying one other’s presence. Their EM Fields all bloomed in comfort and warmth and _love_ , and Tailgate couldn’t be happier. When they spoke, it was in hushed tones and soft words, with half-shuttered optics and lazy caresses and helm-pats and soft, sleepy laughter. He could feel their spark's pulsing settle into sync with the others, a wave of serenity and kinship washing over the trio. Whirl hummed softly, turning his head to butt the top of his helm against Tailgate's, optic eclipsing into a upward curve as Cyclonus nuzzled Whirl's thigh idly, the metal warm on his cheeks as he purred ever so softly. Tailgate laid a hand on both of their sides, beaming through shuttered optics at them both, affection filling his field, feeling theirs follow suit.

Tailgate murmured a soft "Love you," to the both of them before allowing himself to slip into recharge. Maybe they _were_ home.


End file.
